


New Vegas

by IceonFire7



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-04
Updated: 2014-07-12
Packaged: 2018-02-07 10:15:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1895253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IceonFire7/pseuds/IceonFire7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is my take on Charlie, Monroe, and Connor in New Vegas. Running alongside the series, with character introspection thrown in. This is a bit of a continuation of It's Good To Be King and it assumes the events in that story happened. And this is different from the show because it was written prior to the episode Happy Endings. This has been posted on Fanfiction for a while. And yes, I'm still living in a Charlie/Monroe bubble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing from Revolution, but if I could have one thing, it would be David Lyons.

He'd come rushing in at the last minute, like he always did, like some savior from a pre-Blackout movie. It was the same dramatic entrance he'd made in that bar in north Texas. When he'd blasted through the door, all dangerous glares and deadlier moves. But this time, he'd held the cure to saving her grandfather.

The sun sank lower and lower, setting on her grandfather's life, just as it set on the day. She and her mother waited with Gene, praying help would arrive in time. And then it did, in the form of Monroe. She was sure Rachel would do a bit of self-reflecting over that, considering he was the one to actually inject her grandfather. She and Rachel had been too shaky and numb to do it themselves.

So now, here she was, two weeks later, on her way back to New Vegas. With Monroe. Oh, how things had changed. On their way to Willoughby, she'd never expected to make a return voyage. And certainly not with him. Actually, she kind of figured he'd be dead by now, either by her own hands or by someone else in her family.

But that had happened. Monroe had died. At least, she'd thought he had. And it hadn't brought her the satisfaction she'd thought it would. She could say it was because Miles was so upset about it. She could say it was because he was a warrior, and even an evil warrior deserved to die on the battlefield. In the end though, she'd had to admit the truth, at least to herself. Since he'd rescued her, since they'd travelled together, she had not only begun to forgive him, she had started to like him as well. She offered up another silent apology to both her father and brother, but even the hatred for that was falling by the wayside the more time she spent with him.

And now, he'd saved her grandfather. He didn't like Gene, for obvious reasons, but he'd done it anyway. She supposed it was partly for Rachel. Somehow, she believed Monroe still felt the need to atone to her mother for his many sins against her. But deep down, she knew he did it for her. For some reason, whenever she needed his help, he was always there. And the warm feeling that notion gave her was becoming less annoying all the time.

And so, two weeks had passed since that night, and Gene had made a full recovery. She'd also gotten the details of what exactly had gone down. It wasn't only Monroe she had to thank for her grandfather's life, but Miles and Connor as well. Miles was no surprise, but Connor had been less expected. And apparently, he'd done the really difficult work of getting the antidote and escaping Truman's grasp. But it was Monroe who'd slipped into the quarantine camp, like a shadow upon the wall, and cured Gene.

She glanced over at Connor, riding beside her, remembering their first meeting after their escape from the camp. He'd been standing next to his father when Miles introduced them, and her first thought was that he was cute. He had dark looks, darker than she would have expected for Monroe's kid, and he reminded her vaguely of Jason. But her initial reaction was slightly ambivalent. He just didn't have...the Monroeness she had expected. He didn't...shine.

Of course, when his father was in the room, it was really hard for anyone else to stick out. Monroe the elder had a way of drawing all eyes to him. Seeing him in action, it was easy to understand why so many had followed him. The charisma, the presence, he could say jump and people would ask how high. Of course, she supposed the same could be said of most dictators throughout history.

And that thought brought her mind back to Aaron, the man who'd taught her about history. She hoped he was okay, wherever he was, and that he would find what he was looking for.

"You all right?"

Monroe's questioned yanked her into the present, and she glanced over at him. "Fine."

"Care to share what's on your mind?"

Not wanting to bring Aaron up, she sighed. "Just getting a little tired. How close are we?"

"About another hour. You got it in you?"

He was teasing her, but she knew he would bring them to a stop if she said no. She smirked at him. "I think I'll make it."

"If you wanna quit..."

 

 

Connor watched as Charlie fixed his father with a stare. It should have been intimidating, but his father simply returned the look with one of his own. Connor felt a bit uncomfortable watching the exchange play out. He wasn't sure if they wanted to toss each other off their respective horses and pound each other's faces in, or toss each other off and simply...pound into each other another way. One thing was sure; the air around the two of them was electric.

When his father had first brought up the idea of going off to New Vegas to meet with some contacts, he'd agreed, figuring a trek with his father to the town he'd heard about even way down in Mexico could lead to one hell of a weekend. Wine, women, and song. Then Monroe had dropped the bombshell of Charlie going along, and all thoughts of a guy's trip evaporated.

It wasn't that he disliked Charlie. Hell, he'd thought she was cute the minute he'd laid eyes on her, but he figured New Vegas was really no place for a woman. Not one as tiny as Charlie. Mentioning that to his father brought a huge smirk to the old man's face. When his father proceeded to tell him how she had nearly killed him there, he'd changed his mind. Apparently, this little warrior could handle herself. He found her instantly more attractive.

But when he mentioned that to the old man, he was met with a steely blue gaze that he had to admit might have been the iciest look he'd ever gotten. And he'd been raised by a cold blooded drug dealer. In clipped tones, Monroe explained that Charlie was not some common whore like the ones around Puesta del Sol. That Charlie was not to be treated that way, or talked about that way, or even thought about that way. His father finished his little tirade by telling him that if he tried anything with her, he would personally kick his ass. And if he needed to scratch an itch, he would just damn well have to wait until they got to New Vegas.

Connor understood what that meant. Charlie was off limits...at least for him. He might have balked, if he hadn't seen the underlying emotion in his father's eyes. He had no doubt the man had one hell of a poker face, but in front of his son, when talking about Charlie, something had slipped through the carefully constructed facade. His father actually gave a damn about the girl, and if he was reading it correctly, it was one big ass damn.

Now, he might never be accused of being a kind man. In Mexico, he'd built a reputation as Senior Nunez's protégée, a man to be feared and respected. But the truth was, Connor wasn't a total asshole. At least not all the time. And if he'd seen nothing in his father's eyes but lust and a desire for a quick role in the hay, he might have made a play for Charlie himself. What he'd seen though, well, he was pretty certain that was love. Or the beginnings of it anyway.

No, he knew how his father felt, but he suspected Monroe wasn't ready to admit it to himself, let alone to anyone else, especially Charlie. Plus, he had to admit, the relationship between his father and Charlie's mother was totally out of the park screwed up. The age thing really wasn't a big deal; his father didn't look as old as he was, and he supposed women probably found him attractive. What he didn't know was how Charlie felt.

It didn't look like she wanted to kill Monroe anymore. Hell, he didn't want to kill Monroe anymore, but that was a far cry from actually liking him. Watching the two of them trade insults, a grin on each of their faces, he made it his secret mission to discover what she really felt for the old man. If they were going to restart the Republic, a warrior like her would be a good one to have on their side.

They reached New Vegas, and Monroe offered to find them accommodations and try his hand at finding his contact. "Why don't the two of you take a look around. It's easier to find what I need if I'm on my own."

"You sure you don't need any help?" Charlie asked.

"I might once I find them. I may need someone nobler than me to ask these people to join our fight." His eyes met hers. "That's where you come in."

She nodded, grabbing his arm. "Be careful."

"You, too." His fingers drifted lightly over hers before he stepped away.

Connor watched the whole exchange, a glint in his eye. Charlie was going to be an interesting puzzle to piece together. He glanced up and caught Monroe's eye. The look said 'do not let anything happen to her.' Just to goad the old man, he reached out and hooked his arm through Charlie's, leading her away. "It's okay, Dad. We'll be just fine."

Charlie exchanged one last look with Monroe before Connor turned them around a corner. She pulled her arm away, and he released her with no fuss. That little show had been for his father anyway. "I don't need a bodyguard."

He held his hands up. "Hey, don't get pissed. I just thought it was a gentlemanly thing to do, escort a lady down the street."

Charlie snorted. "Seriously?"

"I guess, seeing the kind of guys you hang around, you haven't had much experience with gentlemen." They wandered down the street, taking in some of the sights.

"I 'hang around' with men who know how to fight. Do you?"

"Well, I guess I knew how to fight well enough to get away from Truman and get the antidote to save your grandfather's ass." The words were cocky, but the tone was not.

She sighed and looked away. Sometimes she had a really big mouth. "I'm sorry. You're right. I owe you a lot of gratitude for that one." She glanced over her shoulder, in the direction from which they'd just come. "It's just your father...sometimes he brings out the worst in me. Since he is your father, maybe I'm projecting some of that onto you. That's not fair."

"Apology accepted." He looked over at her, offering his most debonair smile. "So you don't like Monroe very much?"

"Sometimes I hate his guts." They both chuckled. "But sometimes..."

"Sometimes what?"

She stopped walking and looked up at him. A shutter closed behind her eyes, and he knew she feared she'd already said too much. "Sometimes, he's not that bad."

She moved away, picking up the pace as they headed towards a large tent at the end of the street. "Hey, sorry if I was prying. I'm just trying to get a feel for the old man is all. Your entire family knows him better than I do."

She eyed him for a second. "You're charming."

"Thank you."

"You inherited it." He looked over at her. It kind of burst his bubble to hear that. Like all he was could be attributed to the man who had just waltzed into his life. "Whenever your father wants something, he turns on the charm."

Well, the man had led a country. Maybe, it wasn't all that bad to be compared to him. He smiled the biggest shit-eating grin he could at her. "And there's the smirk. You inherited that smile as well."

He studied her as they walked. "Sounds like you've given a lot of thought to my father."

"Well, yeah...I tried to kill him." He knew that, but to hear her say it was a little strange. "I'm over it."

She was telling him the truth; he owed her the same courtesy. "I had him whipped. Well, I mean, I whipped him."

They were right outside the big tent when she turned to him, shooting him the full on Matheson glare. It was formidable. No wonder she and his father got along. They both spoke volumes with their eyes. "Excuse me?"

"Well, I...there was a crowd and..." He had no idea what to say. She'd just told him she'd gotten over killing Monroe, and it was quite possible she had feelings for the guy. And he opened his mouth to tell her he'd whipped the man. For once in his life, he was at a loss for words.

 

 

The mere idea of General Sebastian Monroe being tied up and whipped before a large crowd should have been elating.

It was not.

Partly because she wasn't sure she wanted to imagine that sort of torture bestowed on anyone. But the larger part was because the man who had been beaten in Mexico wasn't General Monroe, not really. Not anymore. He'd become...someone she cared about, for heaven's sake. And he was morphing into a different Monroe in her head all the time.

Connor stumbled over his next words. "I...I had to...the man I worked for, he was...I didn't have a choice."

But Charlie didn't believe that. There was always a choice. Like the choices Monroe was making by fighting on the side of good in the war against the Patriots. That Monroe...Bass Monroe, didn't deserve whatever had happened to him south of the border. She made a mental note to ask him about it later. Connor was still jabbering next to her; she had to put him out of his misery. "Let's just drop it for now, okay?"

He nodded, his eyes grateful for the change of subject. He gestured to the tent's opening flap. "Shall we see what's going on inside?

"I suppose."

They walked into a huge tent with a large wooden stage constructed at one end. A man with long, blonde hair sat up on the stage, strumming a guitar and singing a song she couldn't identify. The look on Connor's face said he didn't know it either, but she asked anyway. "Who is this guy?"

He shrugged, backing away when an older woman spun around in disbelief. "Who is this guy? He was in a famous rock band before the Blackout."

"I was five when the Blackout happened," Charlie said.

"I was eight."

The exasperated woman turned back to the stage, and Charlie lifted an eyebrow at Connor. She tilted her head towards the exit, and he nodded, following her out. "If that was what famous rock bands had to offer, maybe I didn't really miss anything."

"He wasn't very good," Connor agreed. "But I remember music. I remember some of it being great."

"Maybe we could find something to eat instead."

"Lead the way."

Crossing the street, they decided on a small booth roasting rabbits over a fire pit. Charlie took a big bite when the vendor handed her a helping, wrapped in white paper. Savoring the spices, she allowed herself a moment to relax and enjoy a meal for a change. Connor was just grabbing his serving, when two women passed by, chatting excitedly.

"No, he's back in town. And he's fighting Bull."

Charlie's stomach tightened. It had to be a coincidence. There were plenty of other boxers who could have come back to Vegas.

Connor must have seen the dark look pass over her face. "You okay?"

"The last time Bull fought someone he killed them. How can anyone stand up to that?"

"Well if anyone could, it'd be Jimmy."

No...

"He was the best." Charlie reached out her hand and grabbed the woman's arm as she passed. The woman curled her lip in disgust. "Excuse me!"

"Jimmy who?"

"Jimmy King."

Charlie dropped her food and bolted, without even a word to Connor. He would either follow or he wouldn't; right now, she didn't care. She had to get to Monroe. At an all-out sprint, she ran through the streets of New Vegas, legs pumping, lungs aching, until she blasted though the opening of the fight tent at the other end of town.

She was just in time to see Monroe take a punch to the right side of his face and sail through the air to land with a thud on the ground. The man...was that really a man...who had hit him was a behemoth. Pushing her way through the crowd, she fought to get to the front. To see if he was still breathing. Dear God, let him still be breathing.

He was, though she imagined he rarely took a punch like that. He was a true boxer, light and fast on his feet, able to sneak in and get a hit before his opponent knew what happened. She'd seen it time and again. The men Monroe fought only got in a few hits before he took them down. He'd been the champ when he'd left Vegas. But it looked like someone new had stolen the title.

She looked at his face and caught him staring at her, his blue eyes full of pain, but full of pride as well. As she watched him watching her, he seemed to gather strength from some endless pool deep inside. His eyes never left hers as he climbed to his feet, cracked his neck, and grinned. The stupid son of a bitch actually grinned at her. She smirked right back. When he turned to the mountain of a man in front of him, she hoped he'd found in her eyes whatever he had needed to.

For a moment, she turned away, almost unable to watch, and her eyes met Connor's. She wasn't sure what he saw on her face, but he nodded, as if some big decision had been made. She turned back to the fight, feeling Connor sidle up beside her.

"He's a tough son of a bitch, my old man. I've rarely seen men that strong."

He meant his father, not the ape he was fighting. And he was offering her comfort. She was grateful for his presence, but also a little miffed. The shirtless Bass with his back to her gave her a fantastic view of the switch marks across his back. Both Monroe men were going to get an earful later.

And had she just thought of him as Bass?

 

 

She was here. And there was no way he was losing to this gorilla while Charlie was watching. He just needed a new perspective. The look she had given him was a permit in a way. Permission to fight and win any way he could. At his weight, he should never have been in the ring with this guy, and the assholes who put him here knew it. So if he had to get a little dirty about it...well, that wasn't really his fault, was it? He could still summon up General Monroe when he had to.

And summon him, he did. The old familiar violence and rage welled up inside of him, and his next punch connected with solid flesh. He felt a lip split under his fist, and he used the distraction to his advantage, bringing a fist up into the ribs of the larger man. The hit was hard and the hit was solid, and he thought he heard a bone crack. After that he was all fists, flying as fast as he could, landing anywhere he was able.

The fight ended when the giant crashed to the ground and he was proclaimed the winner. But the fury was still simmering, pent up inside, until she stepped forward. His eyes, unfocused through the last half of the fight, fell on her, and the world righted itself.

She placed a hand against his cheek; if memory served, that was the first time she'd ever touched his face. He placed a hand on top of hers and just gazed at her. "Let it go, Bass. Just let it go."

So she'd seen the mask he'd slipped into as well. But something in her eyes washed it all away. She didn't seem at all surprised when plain old Bass Monroe looked back at her. "Charlie..."

Without the fire burning inside him, the aches and pains became more real. He teetered forward, held up by both Charlie and Connor putting their arms around his shoulders.

"Glad you made it out in one piece, Dad." Connor put an exaggerated emphasis on the last word. "But what the hell was that all about?"

"I'll tell you in a minute. Just need to rest a bit..."

They helped him out of the main arena and to the smaller first aid tent beside it. "Connor, let's just get him patched up first, please."

They gently placed him in a chair in the middle of the room. Connor glanced around. "What all do we need?"

"A doctor..." Charlie said. She kept looking at him, as if afraid to tear her eyes away. He wanted to tell her he wouldn't do anything else stupid, at least not until he healed. But with his luck, he could never be too sure.

Connor looked at his face and upper chest and agreed with her. "Yeah, but where in New Vegas are we gonna find that?

"Well," another voice came from the door, and three heads swiveled in that direction. "I believe I might be able to help with that."

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is my take on Charlie, Monroe, and Connor in New Vegas. Running alongside the series, with character introspection thrown in. This is a bit of a continuation of It's Good To Be King and it assumes the events in that story happened. And this is different from the show because it was written prior to the episode Happy Endings. This has been posted on Fanfiction for a while. And yes, I'm still living in a Charlie/Monroe bubble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I want to thank everyone for their reviews and kudos. Much appreciated that you took the time to read and review. Hope you continue to enjoy.
> 
> So, even though I already set up the fight and all, I'm going to incorporate the TV show into this now. Assume my short 'lost' scene from Three Amigos did happen as well as this story and we'll move on from there. Connor/Charlie are gonna have to happen now that it did on the show, but do not worry. I am totally about Charlie/Monroe. And that look on Monroe's face after he caught the two of them. That look he shot her, after his little chat with his son. Wow. 
> 
> I own nothing from NBC or Revolution (but I'd take David Lyons if someone is giving things away). Some dialogue is taken from "Happy Endings".

She stood at the entrance of the tent, tall and lanky, with long dark hair and a striking face, two muscle men behind her. The woman's toned arms showed through the lightweight sleeves of her shirt, and the swords hanging from her belt made her appear deadly. She looked like an Amazon. A true warrior, the kind Charlie wished could be. Oh, she was a good fighter, a soldier, she knew that, but this woman could send troops into battle, and no one would blink. Who would ever believe someone as small as her could lead men to their possible deaths?

Monroe rose to his feet and faced the woman. Charlie noticed the lethal look in his eyes, only she wasn't sure if it was anger or lust she saw there. Sometimes with him, it was hard to tell; she believed he was the sort of man who could think and act on both emotions at the same time.

"Hello, Duncan," he said.

"Sebastian."

Charlie looked to Monroe. "She knows who you really are?"

"There's not a whole lot I don't know, kid." Charlie hated her immediately. Although, she wasn't sure if she disliked her cockiness or the way she and Monroe were eyeing each other. As if that thought didn't irk her to no end. Why should any of his past lovers bother her? She caught the woman raking her gaze up and down his body before glancing at her and doing the same. "You're plucking them awful young these days, aren't you?"

Charlie wanted to deny it. But the quick look he shot her stopped her from saying anything. Whatever he needed this woman to believe to get them to the warlord. "I've been looking for you."

"So Gould said. Heard he got you into a hell of a fight."

"I've been in worse."

Suddenly, it all made sense to Charlie. This **was** the warlord. A warlord Monroe shared a past with. One that she knew nothing about. But, no matter what kind of connection she and Monroe might share, how much did she really know about him anyway?

Connor, who had been standing quietly taking it all in, must have arrived at the same conclusion. "This is the warlord?"

"Such a negative title," Duncan said, stepping closer to them. "I just prefer the term leader."

"So wait, you got into this fight with that...that elephant...for her?" Their eyes met, and she hated the answer she found there.

"I knock out his prize fighter, and Gould gives me the location of one...leader," Monroe said, smirking and turning back to Duncan. "We need to talk. Five minutes, for old times' sake."

He gave the bitch his tiny little corner-of-the-mouth smile. The one he used when he didn't really want to turn on the charm. Yet. And, God, could she be more disgusting; now she could identify his smiles? "You need a doctor, Monroe."

"Again, something I can provide. I've got a healer back at my place."

"And I'm so sure we can just believe you," Charlie said.

"You got a problem, kid."

"I might."

"Listen, little girl, why don't you just back the hell off."

Before anyone could blink, Charlie whipped her gun from the waistband of her pants and pointed it at Duncan. When the woman's henchmen did the same, Connor raised his own gun.

Monroe, for once without a weapon, lifted his arms, gesturing for everyone to lower their weapons. But it was her he spoke to directly. "Alright, Charlie, hold up. Damn it."

Duncan just smiled at her, lifting her chin with a dare on her lips. She recognized the look; it was the same one she'd given Strausser when he'd been ordered to shoot one of Rachel's children. By the man she was currently defending. Could her life suck anymore than it already did?

"Look, guys, come on. Just...relax. Okay." He looked back and forth between the two women. "Charlie, put the gun down. Now. Now!"

Did he just choose Duncan? Over her? Some part of her broke at the thought; recently, he'd been the one on her side. Always her side. Miles was so caught up in her mother and the Patriots, but Monroe, well, he was just...there. Emotional, she was being emotional. So much so that the rational part of her failed to realize she was the one holding the gun. Compartmentalize, put the feelings away. She lowered the gun, and everyone else followed suit.

"Okay." Monroe smiled at Duncan. "Will you just hear me out?"

"Just you and me." She motioned to Connor and Charlie. "These two...take a walk."

Charlie's stomach churned. He was going to go with her. She knew him well enough to know that. Sure, he needed a doctor, and they needed men, but she suspected those weren't his only reasons. He turned to her and Connor, confirming her suspicions. "I'll catch you guys back at the rendezvous point."

Without another glance, he followed Duncan out of the tent.

 

 

Connor glanced over at Charlie as they walked through the town. He'd been hoping they would sleep in New Vegas; he missed a proper bed after so much time on the road, but his father apparently hadn't had time to find accommodations before the fight. So, back to the prearranged meeting place and the bedroll it was.

Watching her, he noticed something off. She handled herself miraculously against Duncan, impressing him more than he thought possible. This was the fierce woman his father had a thing for. He had to admit, he might be developing a thing of his own. Only now, she seemed withdrawn. "Well, you were pretty impressive."

"I was, huh?"

"I mean, the girls back home, they're putting beet root on their lips. They're not pulling guns." He smiled at her. He had noticed the way she listened to his father though. When he said put the gun down, well, she might have hesitated, but she put it down. If she was already taking orders from his father, she would be a great asset to the new Monroe Militia.

"I'm not like the girls back home, am I?"

He met her eyes, and suddenly, despite all his best intentions towards his father's feelings, he wanted her. "No. No, you're definitely not."

Nearing their campsite, she paused for a second, cocking her head as if making a decision. At first, he wasn't certain if he was imaging the heat that entered her eyes. Until she grabbed his head and pulled him down to meet her lips.

He tried to pull back, think about his father...initially...but she tasted so sweet. Like, honey sweet. And how could a man resist when she was rubbing her body so snuggly against his? This was exactly what his father had warned him not to do. How the hell was he supposed to handle it?

But maybe he'd been wrong about her having any feelings for Monroe. Maybe she was only tolerating the guy.

Kissing their way back to camp, he struggled with the fight inside his head. Then her shirt came off, and she leapt up, wrapping her legs around his waist.

Oh, hell, who was he kidding? He wasn't that good of a guy.

 

 

The doctor had stitched up the little split over his eye and stopped the bleeding from his nose. Turned out, he wasn't beaten that badly after all. Now, as he sat at the little makeshift bar in Duncan's tent, he eyed the woman he'd had a pretty lengthy thing with in Vegas. Never stopped him from taking home whores, Duncan was kind of in and out of town, but she was the one he'd had in his bed most often. Then he'd just disappeared. With Charlie.

Duncan had every right to be pissed off.

"You've got five minutes," she said, slamming a shot of whiskey in front of him. Apparently, her goodwill only lasted long enough for him to get patched up and say his piece.

"So, you up or down?"

"I'm doing fine."

He chuckled. "There are many things you are very skilled at, Duncan. Cards is not one of them."

She glared at him. "Are you gonna get cute with me right now? After the way you left things."

"Hell, I think it's adorable that you still care." Okay, he would flirt with her if that would work.

"Four minutes." Or not. He'd planned to have Charlie be the diplomatic one, asking Duncan for the use of some of her men. But apparently, that was off the table after the way the women had glared at each other. He always had been attracted to strong women; well, at least in the case of the ones who lasted longer than one night.

"Okay, you know about these U.S guys?"

"I've seen 'em around." She shrugged. "So?"

"You're not worried?"

"Have you ever known me to be the anxious type?"

"Right." She was one of the coolest cucumbers he'd ever known. That was probably the reason he'd told her who he really was. She was like Miles, level-headed until she had no other choice. And he'd enjoyed that about her. Or maybe, at the time, he'd just been missing the hell out of his brother. After all the shit went down in Philly, he found himself missing just about everything from his former life. Except actually being the president.

"Hey, you and your, uh, your tribe." He glanced around at the men holding guns at the ready. "Bunch of tough guys, right? Just like the Comanches. But when the U.S. Government showed up, how'd that pan out for them?"

"I don't pick unnecessary fights."

"I'm not asking you to." He stood up, leaning closer to her over the table, turning on some of that charm Charlie accused him of using at will. What he hadn't told her was that he hadn't used it on her. Only vaguely, when they'd first met in Philadelphia. But not in the pool and not after questioning the bounty hunter and certainly not after the bar. She was the first one in a long time he had been nothing but totally honest with. Not even Duncan had that honor. Of course, he hadn't told Charlie about what he and Connor had discussed. That was a very delicate situation that had to be handled with the greatest of care. After the Patriots. "I want to buy some of your guys. Ten, maybe, fifteen."

She shook her head. "They're not for sale."

"You're doing so well on the tables, you couldn't use the money?"

It took only a minute for her to decide. Her voice was cold when she replied. "Thirty diamonds a head."

"Thirty?" He chuckled. Yeah, right. Not if they sold everything they owned. The only thing he could sell and get anywhere near that amount of diamonds for would be Charlie. And he'd cut his own throat before he'd let that happen. "You're out of your mind. Ten a head."

"Thirty diamonds a head." Maybe she was more pissed off than he'd originally thought. He couldn't believe the charm wasn't working.

"Come on, cut me a break here. Twenty." She glared at him, her eyes never wavering. He knew that damn diplomacy would've come in handy. When had Charlie developed such a short temper? "Twenty-five?"

"Thirty a head."

That was the best he was going to get. "Alright. Thirty."

They shook hands, and he made sure to hold hers a little bit longer than necessary. He also held her gaze, giving her the look that had wooed not only her, but plenty of other women into bed. Not that he was actually interested in that with Duncan. As far as he was concerned, that part of their relationship had ended when he'd left New Vegas. But flirting with a pretty woman was never a bad thing.

Speaking of pretty women, it was high time he got back to Charlie and the kid. As he left Duncan's tent, his thoughts drifted back to the woman waiting out at the campsite with his son. She was on his mind so much lately, and he'd just starting warming to the idea that there was a spark between them. For quite a while, he'd felt like a creep for even entertaining the thoughts running around his head. He kept repeating the mantra 'Miles is her uncle; Rachel is her mother' over and over again. And he figured there was no way she would ever want him to touch her, as she'd so eloquently told Miles when they'd first come to Willoughby.

But then they'd fought together in the school. And he'd made it down all of three flights before realizing he could not leave her to die. Because he realized it would hurt him too much if she did, the hell with who her uncle was. And when he'd cut that Patriot asshole's throat for her...the way she'd looked at him. Then she'd asked him to call her Charlie, which he rather liked. It made him feel like one of her inner circle. And then she'd asked him to come back, which made him feel like a king. Then there was that thing that passed between them at the fight; damn, it was like making love with nothing but their eyes. And it was nearly as satisfying. Well, not really.

And, oh God, could what he thought was happening to him be happening? It had been so damn long, he wasn't sure he remembered what it felt like. But he knew like hell that he just wanted to see her face.

He picked up the pace until he was almost running to the campsite.

 

 

Charlie crawled off Connor, dropping to her back beside him. She was spent, and yet, somehow unsatisfied. That was weird. She didn't really care about the guy, but that hadn't really bothered her the last time she'd had sex. With that bartender...in the Plains Nation. What the hell had his name been? She'd been so focused on Monroe that she couldn't really remember much else.

Connor breathed deeply beside her. "So...yeah...huh..."

"What? You didn't like it?"

He glanced over at her, then back up to the stars covering the night sky. "Oh, I liked it. I'm just surprised we did it."

"Yeah, well, you're cute. I was bored."

"But you know who my dad is." Yeah, she certainly knew that. Thanks for bringing that up, Connor. Not that she cared. "You think he's a bastard...who's sometimes isn't all that bad."

"Well, more often than not, he is." Christ, she had gotten good at telling lies. Even to herself. But she did not want to think about Monroe right now. And Connor was looking right at her. Not that he could read her like...stop it. "Are you like him?"

Her held her gaze for a second, then looked away. She couldn't be sure, but she thought she saw something tucked away behind his big brown eyes. Not that she could read him like...stop it. "Not at all."

"Well..."

"It's just, don't you think things are gonna get weird now?"

"Only if you care." Which she definitely did not. She was cold inside, empty. Just like she had to be to be a good little soldier. Just like Miles and...stop it.

His head turned in her direction once more. "And you don't?"

She snorted. Oh, yes, Connor this is some great, epic, forbidden love story. It's not like you're...God, stop it! "I'm not gonna apologize. Life's short. For us, even shorter."

"What do you mean?" He swallowed thickly.

"I got news for you, buddy. You just joined the losing team." She glanced over at him. "We'll all be dead inside a year. Tops."

"You really believe that?"

Absolutely. Keep not caring. Think it over and over until you believe it. "Don't get me wrong. I'll go down swinging. But we can't beat these guys. It's gonna end bloody for everybody, so you might as well get what you can while you can."

"Or...you could try having a little hope."

"I'd rather be realistic." Hope, what the hell was hope. She'd lost all of that after Danny, after Nora, and the Tower. So what if lately she'd been feeling just a little bit hopeful again. So what if hope came in the form of icy blue eyes that she'd sworn to hate. That just proved how screwed up she was, how stupid she was being. But now she had a reason to hate those damn eyes again. They were probably gazing down at that warlord bitch right now.

"You are kidding me?"

Or not.

 

 

"You have got to be kidding me!"

He'd misread everything. He had obviously misread every single sign he thought he'd seen in Charlie's eyes. Rarely in his life had he ever been so wrong, but apparently when it came to the Mathesons, he was blinded by them. Or blindsided by them. Not once, but twice. How could this keep happening to him? He wasn't a stupid man. He'd aced school and could have easily gone to college, but he'd chosen to join the military with Miles instead. And yet, he'd still woken up to the muzzle of a gun in his face. And now, he'd just walked into this.

But maybe that was the problem. He loved Miles so fiercely, he just walked right off the cliff after him time and time again. He'd started a whole republic because Miles had wanted it. But he was the charismatic one, the born leader, so he was the one who got stuck with the whole thing. He was the psychotic bastard. Let's just sweep aside all the bad things Miles did and just lay it all at his feet. Why the hell not. He was the obvious patsy. And now the whole thing was happening again with Charlie. He was jumping off the bridge for another Matheson. He was a damn idiot.

He was still far enough away to not have to see all the details. Details he had no desire to witness. Like his son naked next to...he was looking at it, and he couldn't even finish the thought in his head.

"Get up and get dressed." It came out cold and calculated, and he recognized it for the tone it was. It was the General's tone. And Charlie must have heard it as well. She finally tore her gaze away from him, turning her head to look out across the field.

He stalked off giving them more than enough time before seeking out Connor. Would he be a psychotic bastard if he killed his own son? What if he just roughed him up a bit? He wanted to, some part of him really wanted to. But when the kid walked up to him, he knew he would never really hurt Connor. He was going as soft as Miles. The horrors in Philadelphia may have started his slide back to the light side of the Force, but the woman getting dressed behind the tree had finished it. Or almost finished it. He wasn't quite there yet. Cause if he was, the anger and jealousy he felt for his own kid would not exist.

But it did.

"We're in New Vegas. Literally surrounded by whores." He couldn't keep his voice from shaking with rage. "You choose her. After I specifically told you not to."

"She chose me. I didn't really have much say in it." Connor was getting cocky with him, he knew that, but, damn it, if that didn't sting.

"What if Miles or Rachel find out about this, huh? Hey, think." He slapped his hand against the kid's chest. He didn't give a shit about either of them finding out. He really didn't think their ire would extend to his son having a thing with Charlie. No, that would be forgivable. Now, if it had been him...God, he did not need to go there right now, but he had been deluding himself the whole time. He could never have anything with her. What he felt didn't matter.

He wasn't done ranting though. "You're an idiot. And you're thinking with the wrong head."

That seemed to piss Connor off. "And you're not?"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

His son obviously wanted to say something, but when the words came out, Monroe knew he'd filtered them. "Okay, look, you've been my dad for what, all of fifteen minutes. So just stop. This is either gonna work with us as partners or it's not gonna work. Your call."

Connor turned and stomped off, and he just let him go. Good, let the kid think he was actually mad because of stupidity. He didn't need anyone to know why he was really so livid.

He felt her coming before she stepped into his line of vision. He couldn't look at her at first, but then his eyes met hers in their usual dance. And all the fury melted right out of him. This was the part he hated most. The aching, nagging pain.

Her eyes looked dull, lifeless. It bothered the hell out of him. What was happening to her? "You get those mercenaries."

"Yeah, we got 'em. Just gotta pay for them."

She nodded, walking away. "Good."

His eyes clung to hers as long as he could, but she ripped hers away faster than normal. He missed it already. His eyes never left her form as he resisted the urge to yank her back, hold her in his arms, and beg her to tell him what he'd done wrong. What he'd misunderstood. Just a few weeks ago, right before Mexico, he'd felt them growing closer. He'd thought they had something...something he was afraid of, but something just the same. He wanted to know why Connor was the one and not him. He'd really thought it was him.

But that wasn't just clingy...that was psycho, and that was something he didn't want to be anymore. For her. Whether or not she wanted him, he was still going to be there for her. Be her friend or anything she wanted or needed him to be.

Her friend. Jesus, when had he become the man who was the friend. He'd always gotten the girl. Emma, Shelly, and all the ones in between. Well, maybe not Nora, but he hadn't really wanted her. Not the way he wanted...Charlie. There he'd finally said it, thought it at least. He wanted Charlie, and it wasn't just lust talking. No, he wanted her, all of her. Sad that he could admit that, now that there was no chance for them.

Watching her amble off deflated him. Maybe not like with his family, or Shelly, but damn if it wasn't in the realm. Which was really terrible. Because Charlie wasn't dying; she was just walking away.

And when had he become such a whiny little girl? Not that long ago, he was the most feared man on the continent. He was tough, a hard ass, a killer.

His heart hurt.

 

 

It had gotten weird. Just like he predicted it would.

They were sitting in the casino, he and his father on each side of Charlie. The only problem was she and Monroe were acting stiff and unnatural. None of that banter flowed between them, and they avoided touching completely, even though there was only about 12 inches between them. They were still doing that eye thing though.

Great, what the hell had he stepped into the middle of. His father was right; he was thinking with the wrong head.

Connor turned his gaze back to the task at hand, watching as a guy poured diamonds into a black lockbox.

"They collect the winnings every two hours. They carry them to the vault," Monroe explained, nursing his drink, blue eyes on Charlie.

Gee, this was gonna be fun. "Any way to the vault?"

His father finally looked over at him. "Not alive. We have to take 'em on the floor."

"So, we're just gonna stick 'em up. What are we crooks now?" Charlie asked.

Her hard gaze and sharp words were directed at his father. He suddenly wished she'd taken Monroe to bed instead of him. Because he apparently hadn't taken the edge off of Charlie, and his father needed laid. Maybe he was the only one who saw the obvious; the only satisfaction forthcoming was if they slept with each other.

"You want those men. We need those diamonds."

So this was how it was going to play out. They were just going to be pissed off at each other for the whole rest of this little journey. The trip back would be his best days ever. If Charlie tried to use him to make his father jealous, he was ripping them both a new asshole.

"There's too much security in here," she said, snapping him back to the present.

"Well, I can get most of them out of here," his father said.

"How?"

That was absolutely panic and concern he heard in her voice. He would have checked her baby blues as well, but those were plastered on Monroe's. Son of a ...the eye thing again. Did he really even need to be in the room?

 

 

She might have really ruined things this time. He was short with her; he was edgy. And, oh yeah, Connor was still around. Maybe if he hadn't been, they could have straightened this out. Of course, if Connor hadn't been there, they probably wouldn't have had anything **to** straighten out.

Locking and loading, they gathered up weapons for what she still considered a stupid plan. Had he really had strategies this bad running the Republic? No wonder Neville grabbed it off of him in less than a day.

"Alright, look, I figure I can get that casino pretty empty for a little while," Monroe said, his eyes on her the whole time.

His gaze was so intense, as it always had been, but now, she found herself unable to maintain eye contact. Which ruined their best means of communication. "By picking a fight with that idiot Gould?"

"Creates a diversion. Not a lot of choices here." He finally turned away from her to his son. "But when it happens you gotta move fast."

"Don't worry." Connor leaned against the cart. "And, um, thanks...for letting us handle it."

Monroe nodded. "We're partners, right?"

As if that didn't pique her curiosity. Partners in what? Suddenly, his eyes were back on her, the icy blue colder than normal. "And Charlotte, try not to get yourself killed. At least wait until you're on Miles's watch. I'll see you two at the rendezvous point."

With that, he walked away.

Connor shot her a smug grin, and she wanted nothing more than to smack it off his face. Instead, she shoved a bag of supplies at his chest and stomped off towards New Vegas.

Monroe had gotten too far ahead, so she couldn't see him anymore, but in some odd way, she could sense him. And she couldn't shake the bad feelings slithering through her.

So he just wanted to dump her back off on Miles again.

And Charlotte. He was back to the Charlotte thing now. She wanted to be pissed. But she was just...sad. All the friendliness and camaraderie, all the teasing, it was gone. Charlotte...General Monroe called her that. But Charlie...Charlie was all Bass. God, what had she done.

 

 

Over the top of her cards, she watched another load of diamonds trickle into the lockbox. Monroe had been right. What else was new; was the man ever wrong? His distraction with Gould drew a lot of patrons from the casino tent, bodyguards included. She could hear him outside, yelling and shouting at the fight promoter, accusing him of setting him up, putting him in the ring with someone twice his size.

Her eyes travelled to Connor. Sipping out of a flask, he stumbled, falling onto a casino table and cracking it in two. Gamblers grabbed loose diamonds, taking what they could get and running for the exit. The remaining guard shook his head, grabbing his weapon to break up the chaos.

While everyone had their eyes on Connor, she snatched the lockbox and sped off.

"Hey, you, stop!"

She rushed out of the tent, and for a brief second, her eyes caught his. With the throng of people crowded around Monroe and Gould, how had her sights landed on him? She had no time to think on it and raced down the street, plowing into vendors and knocking over tables. Anything to keep the men following her and away from the guys.

When she hit the chain link fence, she realized exactly how heavy the lockbox under her arm really was. She was tough and strong, but why had none of them thought about her size? The box she carried was not the one they needed; she had the decoy, but if she dropped it, the gig would be up. But if she got caught, it would be up even faster.

The box slid from her hands, landing on the ground with a thud, and she leapt up the fence, swinging over the top and scurrying off away from the town.

 

 

He knew the minute she got away. One of Gould's henchmen came up, whispered something in his ear, and then both men took off running.

"Hey, we're not done here," he shouted, knowing the argument was indeed over, and he'd gotten exactly what he needed from the little charade.

And Charlie was safe. Safe and away from New Vegas. It was pure instinct, but his heart knew. The second he'd caught her eye, he knew she'd be fine. Now, he just had to find Connor.

The crowd seemed to realize the show was over and began to disperse. As the mob thinned out, his eyes raked over the crowd, finding Duncan. She gave him a sly little smile and a nod, which he returned. They'd finish their business later, after he reunited with Charlie and his son.

Connor strutted out of the casino, hiking the backpack over his shoulder as he made his way to his father. Monroe couldn't help but be proud; his son was damn good in a tough spot. The whole thing with Charlie was something he was going to have to deal with on his own, but he couldn't hold it against his boy. And he couldn't hold it against her either. Even if she had ever felt anything for him, how much could he ask her to overcome? All the things he'd done to her and her family could not just be glossed over that easily.

As Connor walked by, he stepped from the shadows and joined him, a smile passing between them. Reaching over, he laid a hand on his son's head, ruffling his hair the way his father had always done with him.

He never saw the butt of the gun coming.

Writhing on the ground in pain, he saw Connor go for his weapon, only to be held off by a beefy man brandishing a gun. He watched as someone yanked the lockbox filled with diamonds from the backpack, then Gould's enraged face loomed above him. His last thought before losing consciousness was of her.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize I may be the only one who likes it more when Monroe calls her Charlie. I've seen a lot of different reasoning behind liking him using Charlotte, but to me, it sounds so formal. I like him calling her Charlie because it sounds more intimate. Like Monroe said in here, it's like he's one of her inner circle. And I want him to remain in her inner circle.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is my take on Charlie, Monroe, and Connor in New Vegas. Running alongside the series, with character introspection thrown in. This is a bit of a continuation of It's Good To Be King and it assumes the events in that story happened. And this is different from the show because it was written prior to the episode Happy Endings. This has been posted on Fanfiction for a while. And yes, I'm still living in a Charlie/Monroe bubble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Revolution or these characters. Just playing around in their universe a little.

He woke up in a cage.

Interestingly, not actually the worst place he'd ever awoken. A little hovel in Iraq came to mind; although, that time Miles had been staring at him from across the cell, not his son. What the hell had he gotten them both into?

"Hey, old man, thought you were never going to wake up," Connor said. The tone held sarcasm, but Monroe swore he could hear a hint of relief. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking.

"My luck isn't that good, kid." He glanced around the cage; it was merely a holding cell. "Has he been in yet?"

No need to explain who 'he' was. What Gould was planning to do with them was anybody's guess. "Stopped in a few times. He hasn't said anything, but I think he's waiting for you to wake up."

Monroe nodded. "What's the fun in taunting an unconscious man?"

Connor picked at a loose string on his shirt, his entire attention focused on it. Monroe could tell he was reluctant to voice what was on his mind. "Do you think she got away?"

He knew she was safe, could just sense it in his gut. She was resourceful, tough, and sharp as a tack. Only one thing preyed on his mind. Charlie didn't leave anyone behind. "Yeah, I think she did."

"Do you think she'll send help?"

Monroe's chuckle held no humor. "Knowing Charlie, she's gonna try to spring us on her own."

"That's insane."

"That's Charlie."

Any other conversation halted as Gould and his thugs sauntered into the room. 'Well, well, if it isn't Jimmy King. Finally awake."

"What's the plan, Gould? You toss me into fights until you actually find someone who can beat me?"

"Oh, no, no, Jimmy. We're way past that now." Gould laughed a minute, then shot a wicked look at the two men in the cage. "Forgive me, maybe I should use your real name…General Monroe."

Shit…being anonymous was the last thing they had going for them. And if he knew who he was, he could just bet he knew Connor's identity as well. "I don't really use the General anymore."

"Shame. It would sound better on the marquis."

Now they were getting to the heart of it. "Marquis for what?"

"For the two of you, of course." Gould paced around outside the bars, giving its occupants a wide berth and never getting too close. The way one avoids jungle cats in captivity. The man was a chickenshit and they both knew it. Now that his real identity had been uncovered, Gould wouldn't let himself within ten feet of the cage. Good thing, too, because Monroe had every intention of slicing the man's throat. "Sebastian Monroe versus…his son. Thanks to you two, I'll have the greatest draw in the history of New Vegas."

"You're going make me fight my son?" Could this moron be any more predictable.

"Oh, no, I know how that would turn out. You'd fight, beat each other up a bit, live to fight another day." Gould smirked, meeting his eyes with such confidence, Monroe couldn't wait to wipe the grin right off his face. "But in my little world, only one of you is gonna live to see another day."

A fight to the death. The bastard was going to pit him against his son in a fight to the death.

"Well, you two should probably rest up. You're going to need your strength." He motioned to the exit with a tip of his head, and the men filed out. Reaching the tent flap, he swung back around to the cage. "Oh, and yeah, I've got a lead on that hot little piece of tail you came to town with. I know she was in on it. Pretty soon, she'll belong to me as well. I think I'll sell her to the highest bidder."

He'd held his composure throughout all of Gould's taunts and revelations, but mentioning Charlie was too much. Vision swimming with red, Monroe gripped the bars of the cage. "You stay the hell away from her!"

Gould was already gone.

 

 

Connor eyed his father, unsure if the rage had subsided yet. When Gould brought up Charlie, his father's reaction took him by surprise. He knew Monroe cared for her, but the unbridled anger had not only caught him off guard, but downright frightened him. How scary had General Sebastian Monroe been at the height of the Republic's heyday?

"Son of a bitch. I'm going to kill the son of a bitch." Monroe walked the small cell, reminding Connor of a caged tiger he'd seen at the zoo as a child, long before the Blackout. As a boy he'd thought nothing could really hold a being so fierce, and he'd worried the animal would escape. Now, he figured if escape was possible, Monroe would find a way.

"Dad." The pacing stopped, and blue eyes locked on him. It was maybe the first time he'd spoken that word not dripping with sarcasm. "They don't have her. Not yet, anyway."

Monroe regarded him for a few minutes, the ice in his eyes slowly melting away. "You're right."

"So she did get away."

A grin bloomed on his father's face, fading as quickly as it came. His gaze remained on Connor for another moment, and he swore he saw a war raging behind Monroe's sharp blue eyes. He knew the second a decision was made. "We gotta get ready. We don't have much time."

"Time for what?"

"I gotta teach you how to kill me."

 

 

They were late. Gould had obviously figured out their little scheme, and her two overconfident partners-in-crime had certainly been caught. She'd hated this idea from the beginning, and now she had to double back and rescue their asses. She should just leave them and make her way back to Willoughby. It was the smart move, the sensible one. She smirked; when had she ever done the smart or sensible thing? And besides, he hadn't left her behind.

But her face was sure to be known in New Vegas now. Sneaking in was the only way she could get the job done. She would have to go in quietly, grab the guys, and get gone.

The trek back to town gave her time for reflection on the past couple of hours. Jumping into things headfirst was a definite fault of hers, yet she'd done it again with Connor. She'd been so jealous of Duncan…yes, jealous, she could admit that now…because of her past with Monroe. Assuming he'd been seducing the warlord instead of merely convincing her had led her into a major mistake with Connor. One she wasn't sure how to fix. It had affected her relationship with Monroe; that much was obvious. Was it too late to turn things around? To make her Charlie again. Because she really didn't want to go back to being Charlotte to him. She had to make things right.

Lights came into view, and she ducked into the shadow of a broken down minivan. Suddenly, a huge roar from the far end of town echoed into the night. Glancing around the corner, she noticed no one was guarding the entrance to Vegas. She didn't know whether to be overjoyed or offended. Was she not a fugitive; was no one looking for her?

Getting in was so easy, she was beginning to wonder if it was a trap. But why would Gould go to such an elaborate set up for her? Loud cheers erupted from the large tent across town, and she had her answer. Gould wouldn't go through all this for her, but he would for Sebastian Monroe. Especially if he knew his real identity.

She broke into a run, thoughts running rampant in her head. They'd been betrayed, and the obvious answer was Duncan. She knew who Monroe really was. But why would she offer her men, only to renege on the deal? And what could she gain by turning them in?

She slipped into the tent, head low, hair covering her face, but no one seemed inclined to even look at her. Then she saw the reason why.

What the hell was this?

 

 

They were led into the arena. That was surely the only way this place could be described. Sure it was just a large cage, but the mob surrounding it shouting his name, chanting his real name, gave off an air of savage. Here they were in the future, and he'd walked directly into a Mad Max movie. Perfect.

"Wonderful. We're in Thunderdome," he muttered.

"What?" Connor asked.

"Never mind." He had no time to explain. They needed to put on a show and pray for the best. If Charlie came through, they might all have a chance. If not, then so be it. He just had to hope Connor wouldn't balk at the last minute.

"Ladies and gentleman." Gould's voice rose above the crowd. "We have an epic fight for you tonight. The battle to end all battles."

The crowd went wild. Looking around, he could see handmade signs in support of him and against him, signs for his son, signs wishing for both of their deaths. It only pissed him off more. He deserved whatever was thrown at him, but his son…Connor did not.

"We have for your viewing pleasure tonight…General Sebastian Monroe."

There were cheers, there were hisses and boos. He heard Gould introduce his son, but tuned everything out. He damn well might die in this cage tonight. He had more important things to focus on. Charlie…what a damn shame. Too bad he hadn't been able to understand or admit to his feelings a few weeks ago. Would he have told her how he felt? He still couldn't be sure, but he wouldn't have wasted one moment being in her presence. He would have spent as much time with her as he could. And with Miles. He should have spent more time with his brother, at least trying to apologize for all the things he'd done wrong. He prayed to any god that would listen that the two of them, and his son, could finish off the Patriots and finally find some peace.

Another cheer brought him back to the present, to the fight and his son before him. They circled each other for a minute. He was going to let the boy win if necessary. But they did need to make it look real. And Connor had slept with the woman he loved. He was going to deliver at least one punch.

He leapt into the air and brought a solid hook to his son's jaw. Connor went down to one knee, his eyes shooting up to his father and growing wide. Leaning over, he whispered into the kid's ear. "Come on, pal, I didn't even use that much force."

"No, Dad, look!"

Monroe spun around, mouth gaping open as he stared at the flaming arrow sticking out of Gould's chest .

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is my take on Charlie, Monroe, and Connor in New Vegas. Running alongside the series, with character introspection thrown in. This is a bit of a continuation of It's Good To Be King and it assumes the events in that story happened. And this is different from the show because it was written prior to the episode Happy Endings. This has been posted on Fanfiction for a while. And yes, I'm still living in a Charlie/Monroe bubble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to thank everyone for the comments and kudos. Thanks so much for reading. 
> 
> Some dialogue is taken from Fear and Loathing. 
> 
> I own nothing from Revolution; though I wish I did, especially David Lyons.

The fire spread quickly over the body. Gould stumbled back, falling through the tent flap, the sounds of screams echoing in from the street.

For a moment, Monroe couldn't take his eyes off the spectacle, until he remembered the arrow. He whipped around expecting to see Charlie standing there in all of her glory. Except it wasn't Charlie slowly lowering her bow. It was Duncan. She hated his guts, but she'd come to his rescue.

A second later, another arrow took out one of Gould's men, and all hell broke loose. Amidst the surging crowd, he saw Duncan turn her head to look for the shooter, but all his focus was back in the cage with Connor. Never one to be outdone, he knew that his girl had fired the second shot. And he heard the blasts of gunfire, knew instinctively Duncan's men were firing on Gould's. He needed to arm himself and his son.

Even with all the pandemonium, two guards were still trying to watch the door. Realizing they were both facing the crowd and not the men locked up inside the cage, he shook his head. Well, it was his good luck that Gould had absolutely crap men in his employ. Seriously, did they not understand the greatest threat came from inside the cage? He slipped behind one, grabbed his throat, and yanked. The man's head connected with the metal bars, and Monroe pulled his sword from its sheath before he hit the ground. When the second guard lunged for him, he slid the sharp blade into his gut, stealing his weapon with ease. He tossed the second sword to his son.

"I know you prefer guns, but you know how to use that thing now, right?"

"We spent the day practicing sword techniques. I got it," Connor said. "What do we do now?"

"Now we wait."

"For what?"

"For our rescue party."

 

"Stand back," Charlie shouted, firing at the lock on the cage door. She was thrilled to see both men still alive and all in one piece. Because she planned to be the one to kill them both for the stress they put her through. Her eyes locked on Monroe's, blue on blue. She didn't know why she was madder at him than his son, but she was. Maybe because she knew, if one man had died in the cage tonight, it wouldn't have been Connor. She didn't have time to think about why that bothered her so much.

"Come on." Motioning for them to leave the cage, she glanced over at Duncan. She still hated her, but the warlord had obviously planned to save Monroe and his son; she supposed she was grateful for that.

A movement behind the older woman caught her eye, and she hurried away from the men to take a closer look. She recognized the ponytailed man approaching Duncan from behind as one of Gould's. That couldn't be good.

Pushing through the running mob, she grabbed the thug's arm, shoving the knife concealed in his hand into his own chest. Duncan whirled around, bow at the ready, her henchman's gun aimed at Charlie; both stared down at the dead man lying on the ground in a pool of blood.

"I just saved your life, bitch," Charlie said, her nose inches away from the other woman's. "That was for saving Monroe."

Duncan cocked an eyebrow. "Just Monroe?"

She faltered. Had she really just omitted Connor from her snarky barb? "Both Monroes."

Duncan's dark eyes narrowed, but a glint of humor snuck into them. Christ, she knew; the woman knew her deepest, darkest secret, the one she couldn't even admit to herself. If she called her on it, Charlie swore she would deny it until the end of time. "Well, I couldn't really just let an old friend die, could I? He did promise me a hell of a lot of diamonds."

And that was it. For whatever reason, Duncan wasn't going to press the issue of what she'd just learned. Could it be the older woman knew she couldn't face the truth herself, let alone speak it aloud to someone else? Maybe saving the life of the warlord was worth it after all.

 

They were back in Duncan's camp, packing up for the long trek back home. The more Monroe thought about the whole trip, the more he wished he'd just stayed in Texas. He'd failed to get the men his little ragtag band of fighters back in Willoughby needed; he'd nearly died at the hands of his son, and he'd had to endure the whole Charlie/Connor hook-up. When the hell had he landed in the middle of a daytime soap?

Glancing away from the fire, he noticed Charlie off on her own. It was the first time he hadn't seen his son hovering around her since she broke them out. He, on the other hand, was avoiding her, had been since he caught her and Connor in flagrante delicto. It was a cowardly move, and one he hated himself for, but if they didn't have business to discuss, what was he supposed to say to her?

Still, she had come back for them, like he knew she would. Her reasoning could have been to save Connor only, but somehow, his heart just wouldn't let him believe that. There had been a small touch of friendship, or at the very least respect, between them, of that much he was sure. Now was the best time, possibly the only time, he would get to set things right between them. Or as right as they were going to get.

Except he had no idea what to say to her. "So, uh...I guess I need to thank you now."

"For what?" She didn't turn to look at him, but he could hear the tightness in her voice as she stuffed clothes in her backpack.

"For coming back for me." Yeah, that wasn't a cocky statement or anything. "I mean, for Connor and me."

She stood, whirling around on him, her eyes flashing like two blue flames. "Why? Because you two idiots got caught. After your stupid plan failed."

Her anger caught him by surprise. And it kind of pissed him off. "If we're such idiots, why'd you come back?"

She skirted the question. "Like you needed to be in a fight to the death after the one you were just in with that...mammoth. Not to mention that you got yourself whipped in Mexico. By your son."

"So, you're mad at me for Mexico. I didn't ask for that, Charlie."

She scoffed, blowing him off with a wave of her hand.

"I took that beating to protect Connor. I did what had to be done for someone I care about. Which reminds me. I told you if the plan went south, to just get out and get back to your family in Willoughby." He knew she'd never listen, but his intention was to keep her safe. Again, something he did for someone he cared about.

"With what? You didn't get the men you promised you would. Was I supposed to go back empty handed? You're worthless."

"Then why bother saving me?" he asked.

"Because someone had to, and since Miles wasn't around to do it, it fell to me this time." She looked him dead in the eye and dealt the killing blow. "And anyway, I was saving Connor."

If she'd shot him, it would have hurt less. He would never let her see that. "He didn't need your help. He was walking out of there one way or another."

He didn't miss her small gasp. He would no longer let himself believe it was because she cared. "You would have let him kill you."

"I told you, Charlotte. I would do anything for certain people in my life." His gaze locked on hers, unflinching. "I would have thought you'd know that by now."

She said nothing as he turned to walk away. "And I didn't need you. Duncan seemed to have everything well under control."

Let her stew on that one for awhile.

 

She was stewing. In fact, she was boiling, her blood full of anger and fire. He practically told her he cared for her, then that she meant nothing to him all in one breath. God, the man was confounding. How could anyone flip the switch so fast?

Of course, she was goading him a bit. Ok, a lot. And the Connor comment had been a low blow. But he pissed her off, getting himself into one dangerous situation after another. He drove her insane. She was...God, help her, she was worried about him. She hated him for it; she hated herself even more.

But now he was mad at her all over again, and it was still her fault. She wanted to crack her head against the nearest tree. Before Gould had captured the guys, she wanted to make things right with him in the worst way. And he'd seemed almost shy in his approach tonight, thanking her for her help. It was possible he was trying to clear the air between them, but as soon as he got close to her, she couldn't think straight. And she flipped out on him, even though she didn't want to. No one messed with her head the way he did.

Slinging her backpack over her shoulder, she caught sight of Monroe and Duncan chuckling. Great, just what she needed. To watch these two flirt with each other. She hated New Vegas.

He noticed her stepping up beside him and slipped his pack on. She saw Duncan's men circle the campfire the same time he did. Sensing Monroe tense up, she prepared herself for whatever was to come. She wanted to bash his head in, but she'd have his back in a fight.

"What's, uh, what's all this?" he asked.

Charlie hoped Duncan wasn't still holding a grudge. In another world, she might have really liked the warlord. She certainly had more in common with this woman than she did with her own mother.

"Well," Duncan began, her eyes on Charlie, "the kid saved my life. A debt is a debt. Take these guys, and go kill your Patriots."

She felt his eyes on her and slid hers over to meet the icy blue orbs, glowing with the firelight's reflection. Was that jealousy or respect in his gaze? She turned her head to Duncan, and a small smile passed between them as she and the warlord made their peace.

"Five?" Monroe asked. "We could use three times as many."

"I think the words 'thank you' are what you're looking for." Duncan nodded at him, and Charlie fought the urge to laugh. He struggled with grateful, like he did with so many other emotions. God, he drove her nuts.

"Right." He smiled at the dark haired woman. "Let's go, boys."

Connor picked up his stuff and set out after his father. Charlie nearly sighed with relief. Secretly, she was thrilled to be leaving New Vegas and all its drama behind.

They walked all of five steps before realizing the men weren't following. Monroe turned back, lifting his arms in a 'what gives' expression.

"They don't take orders from you," Duncan explained. Monroe's face was blank; though, even Charlie had to admit she was confused. Until Duncan's eyes fell on her. "They take orders from her. She's the one I owe."

His gaze was on her again. She could feel royal blue boring into the back of her head. A year ago, it would have creeped her out. Now, it was electrifying.

"You're not bad, kid. You're way better than he deserves."

Charlie smiled and turned to Monroe. Apparently, the warlord still thought there was something going on between them. She found herself wondering why he'd never bothered to clarify their relationship. Don't read anything into it, Charlie. He doesn't care...right?

His voice snapped her out of her reverie. "Well, congratulations. You're the, uh, new lead singer of the Village People?"

The grin she shot him nearly split her face in two. Whoever the hell the Village People were, she was in charge of them now. And, if she wasn't mistaken, he was impressed. Either that or jealous as hell. Either way, the scale was tipped in her favor. "Ok. Come on then."

The men started off at her word, and she had to admit, being in command felt pretty good. Imagine that; she was leading men into battle. As she passed Monroe, her eyes locked on him. Eat your heart out, General.

Her mood felt considerably lighter as they made their way from the camp and out of Vegas. She was pissed enough at Monroe to revel in his envy and confused enough by him to be warm with the knowledge he'd been watching her since she'd brushed past him. Their earlier conversation replayed itself in her head. As it did, her eyes widened, and she stopped for a second, the men halting when she did, Connor and Monroe included.

"Sorry," she said, picking up the pace again, blue eyes never straying from her. He'd been flustered when talking to her back at the camp; though, he would probably never admit it. But she knew it was true. Because whether intentional or not, he'd slipped up while arguing with her. And it warmed her heart more than it should have. In a moment of anger, he'd dropped all pretenses and formalities.

He'd called her Charlie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry , I still like it better when he calls her Charlie. :) Well, this is the end of New Vegas. But the story continues in Long Hard Road Out Of Texas, which incorporates the final episodes, starting with Exposition Boulevard. It's posted on FF, and I will be posting it here in a day or two.

**Author's Note:**

> Wanted to do a little of my own take on what I wanted to have happen in New Vegas. And I really wanted to get inside their heads. Reviews welcomed and appreciated.


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